


carve your marks into my door; feel free to ruin the wood

by InvadingThoughts



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst and Feels, Arguing, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Injuries, Past Relationship(s), Swearing, Work Through Your Issues Like Adults Please Boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 14:36:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11969433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InvadingThoughts/pseuds/InvadingThoughts
Summary: On the inside of his elbow, written in small black cursive lettering, is the key to how Ryan’s going to survive this next month.Every so often, he’ll scratch at it; framing the black letters in red lines, doing his best not to wear away the words. Thinking about it now, it probably wasn't the best place to put it, but at four in the morning while the cold air bit at his fingertips, it’d seemed like his only option.





	carve your marks into my door; feel free to ruin the wood

**Author's Note:**

> written for the prompts 40) exes meeting again after not speaking for years au & 28) knocking on the wrong door au on tumblr
> 
> you can find me there @jeremichal!

On the inside of his elbow, written in small black cursive lettering, is the key to how Ryan’s going to survive this next month.

Every so often, he’ll scratch at it; framing the black letters in red lines, doing his best not to wear away the words. Thinking about it now, it probably wasn't the  _best_  place to put it, but at four in the morning, while the cold air bit at his fingertips, it seemed like his only option. Plus, it didn't help that his careful planning had been thrown into the wind the second he’d heard the sound of his landlord’s- fuck,  _ex-landlord's_ \- feet against the cold concrete landing. So, while this might not be the  _best_  plan, it’s the only one he’s got.

An address, or, more accurately,  _Geoff’s_ address; scribbled down in haste, copied from an old party invite from Geoff’s last birthday. An address, that based on his sources, Geoff hasn’t stayed at in months.

> _Fourth floor, just right of the stairs, room 408._

Ryan sighs. How Geoff can afford to rent out two damn apartments is beyond him, but then again, he should just be fucking thankful that he  _can_. Doesn't matter that the last time he saw Geoff, the other man was fifty grand in debt and seriously considering selling an organ on the black market.

_A lot of things can change in ten months_ , Ryan guesses, picking up his pace as he climbs the stairs,  _especially since_   _he’s enough proof of that himself._

It’s on the third floor that Ryan’s mind drifts off. His boots thud with each step he takes and it’s almost scary how close the sound is to that of gunshots. He wonders if this neighbourhood is as bad as his last one, wonders if flashing police lights and ambulance sirens will become another constant in his life. Or  _maybe_ , he’ll be able to sleep through a full night here.

Either way, though, he can’t help but wonder what it says about him that he no longer jumps at the sound of gunshots, whether they're real or not.

He’s glad to be rid of the stairs when he finally makes it to the fourth floor, so of course, it's just his luck that trips on the last damn step. His hands blindly grab for something to steady him, but there’s nothing but empty air and an old bannister around to keep him from breaking his neck, so he ends up stumbling. He catches himself before he goes down, but something twists in his ankle and a sharp current of pain shoots up his leg. He lets out a hiss, gingerly testing his ability to put his weight on it as he steadies himself. There’s an embarrassed blush warming his cheeks, but he thanks God for small miracles though, because at least there’s no one out in the hallway when he hobbles out of the stairwell.

He stops by the door for a moment and rests his palm against the drywall, giving his traitorous foot a moment to rest. A small part of him considers leaning his forehead against the wall as well, but he's smart enough to think better of it. It's an apartment building, and a cheap one at that, they're not really known for their cleanliness. Who knows how many germs this place is hiding.

He pulls his hand back, wiping it against his thigh like it’ll make a difference.

There’s something strange about being back here, almost like he doesn’t belong. But then again, he doesn’t. The sudden urge to just yell overtakes him, and he barely manages to hold it in. He wants to test the echo of the hall, wants to see if he can get another tenant to come outside. He just wants to do  _something_. It feels like he hasn't done fucking anything since he left college, and it burns him from the inside out.

But instead, he settles; mumbling out a low, “I really hope they haven't cut the power yet,” as he straightens himself out, tentatively adding a bit of pressure to his ankle.

Habit makes him swipe at his nose, looking for blood where it’s not. He huffs, staring down at his clean fingers with something akin to disappointment. Honestly, he’s not all too sure if that’s actually the right emotion, but either way, he should really stop doing that.

There's no blood there anymore.

Ignoring the throbbing in his ankle, he pushes forward, moving down the hallway with careful steps. His eyes scan the rooms, and when he catches sight of it- a small unassuming wooden door with what looks like a crack running through it from the base up- Ryan’s heart skips a beat.

Deep down, he knows Geoff won't mind. Hell, he’s probably not even going to notice that Ryan’s been there at all, even  _if_ he  _does_ care. But still, Ryan can't help but worry. It's not as if they’ve really kept in contact in the recent months, so it’s not like Ryan would really blame him. All he can really do is promise himself that he’ll be gone by the end of the month, all the while silently hoping that he’s not just lying to himself.

He hesitates in front of the door when he gets to it, wondering if he should knock first just to make sure. It should be empty, he  _know’s_ it’s empty, but it would be awfully awkward if he happened to pick the lock just to find Geoff in his underwear on the other side waiting for him. So he knocks- three quick raps against the wood- and starts counting to ten, just to be safe.

When he reaches seven, the door swings open.

It’s cliché. God, it’s so fucking cliché, but then again, Ryan’s only ever been like that around  _him_ and it’s hard to be original when his heart is clawing its way out of his throat- so when he meets Jeremy’s gaze, time just seems to stop. Two and a half years. Two and a half years since they last saw each other- not that Ryan’s been keeping track- and he can’t help but latch onto the fact that Jeremy looks so fucking different now.

Lighter, happier, stronger, he’s fucking  _bald_ for Christ’s sake; Ryan can’t take his eyes off of him.

The thought as to  _why_ Jeremy’s in Geoff’s apartment doesn't even cross his mind, rather, he just stares, because that’s all he can really do. Which leaves it up to Jeremy to break the awkward silence that’s settled over them.

“I- You- What are you doing here, Ryan?” he asks and Ryan realises he’d forgotten how his voice had sounded. He wants Jeremy to talk again.

“Geoff’s… I was…” he frowns when Jeremy raises a confused eyebrow at him, “what are you doing in Geoff’s apartment?”

“What? What are you talking about, this is my apartment, Ryan.” He runs a hand over his shaved head and Ryan knows that if he still had hair, he’d be tugging at the strands. “Geoff’s is down the hall, I think, or at least, it used to be. I haven’t… talked to him in a while,” he admits, rather sheepishly.

“Neither have I, really,” Ryan mumbles back, shuffling on the spot. Changing the pressure on his ankle sends a spark of pain shooting up his leg, and he hisses through clenched teeth. He’s got no real reason to keep standing there, to be honest. He should just say goodbye and leave things there, but he really doesn't want to.

While they didn't part as enemies, they weren’t really friends either, and Ryan wants to fix that.

“How have you been?” he asks and Jeremy shrugs, slipping his finger inside the belt loop of his jeans. He rests his hip against the door frame and Ryan’s glad to have his full attention.

“I’ve been fine, Ryan.”

“You still running?”

A shadow passes across Jeremy's face. “Uh, no. Not anymore.” He doesn't elaborate, and Ryan doesn't push.

“Ah, okay…” he mumbles, hating how awkward things are between them. He wants to go back in time to when Jeremy would tell him everything, back to when they’d spend whole days tangled up in bed, lazily kissing every inch of the other that they could reach. Seeing Jeremy again, he realises that he hasn't quite moved on as much as he thought he had.

“Go anything published yet?” Jeremy asks, and Ryan can't help but flinch.  _No_ , he wants to hiss,  _of course fucking not. You were all right, so I gave up trying,_ but he holds his tongue though because his bitterness is his own to keep. “I won't lie and say I haven't been keeping an eye out,” Jeremy continues and Ryan’s heart skips a beat, “you were writing that, uh, that sci-fi book, right? when we… uh-” he shakes his head- “what I mean is, have you finished it?”

“Nah, I think attempted two drafts of it before I realised it was a lost cause.” That's a lie, he tossed it in the trash five days after Jeremy moved out. “It was a waste of time, anyway,” he mutters.

“But, you loved that damn book,” Jeremy replies and Ryan just shrugs.

“You loved running, but I guess love isn’t really enough, is it?” He replies, and Jeremy blanches. He doesn't mean his words to be  _that_ poetic, especially when they hit so close to home when it comes to what  _they were_ , but then again, Ryan’s always had a way with words. Just not enough to make a living from them, apparently.

Jeremy’s gaze drops to the floor at his words, and Ryan realises he’s put his foot in his mouth. He waits for the lad to tell him goodbye, to close the battered door in his face and leave him standing alone in the hallway, but he doesn't. He looks back up at Ryan, chewing on his bottom lip. “Why were you looking for Geoff, Rye?” he asks and the nickname is unexpected.

He doesn't know what makes him tell the truth. Maybe it’s because he’s trying to trade a secret for a secret; maybe he’s just sick of pretending everything is alright.

Or maybe, it’s because he wants to interact with Jeremy like they used to. Wants to be close again; wants Jeremy to trust him again.

“I know he doesn't live there anymore, I planned to- I wanted to crash there for a month. Just until everything… gets… better?” he mumbles, but it comes out as more of a question than he hoped. Jeremy watches him for a moment, brown eyes seeing right through him, and then he sighs.

“I guess we’re both a bit fucked up, aren’t we?” he whispers, but before Ryan can reply, he steps back and retreats inside. He leaves the door open though, and Ryan takes it as an invitation to come inside. He follows after Jeremy, eyes skimming Jeremy’s apartment as he walks just so he doesn’t have to look at the lad himself. He feels like he’s trespassing, pushing his way into Jeremy’s home even though he’s already had his chance, and even worse,  _lost it_.

“Do you want a drink?” Jeremy asks and Ryan snaps his gaze up to look at him. “I have diet coke, if you’re, uh, still into that…” he mumbles, fidgeting with the can in his hands. Ryan nods, shuffling over towards the kitchen bench before hovering there awkwardly. Jeremy passes him the can, but it’s obvious in the way he deliberately avoids accidentally touching Ryan.

“So…” he begins, staring down at the counter and Ryan wonders why he even bothered to invite him in if his presence makes him so uncomfortable. He’s seconds away from muttering his goodbyes- heart squeezing in his chest- when Jeremy continues. “Is it bad if I… if I say that I’ve missed you, Ryan?” he mumbles, glancing up at him, “I know you’ve probably m-” he cuts himself off, “I mean, it’s been what? Two years?”

“Two and a half,” Ryan corrects and Jeremy snorts.

“Yeah, that sounds about right. It’s just… whatever, doesn't matter.” He shakes his head, thrumming his fingers against the bench. There’s another moment of awkward silence between them, one that Ryan doesn't really know how to break, but for some reason, he still tries anyway.

“I’ve missed you too, Jeremy,” he replies, and Jeremy watches him for a moment through the corner of his eye.

“Why’d you wanna stay at Geoff’s place, Rye?” he asks, and Ryan sighs.

“I got kicked out of my apartment,” he replies, shrugging and Jeremy frowns. “It’s either Geoff’s or I… yeah. I’m screwed either way, I guess.”

“Oh, that fucking sucks,” Jeremy replies and Ryan huffs out a bitter laugh.  _Now that’s an understatement_ , he thinks, taking a sip of his coke. Jeremy’s eyes track his movement, following the can up to his lips and then back down again when he sets it on the bench. Habit strikes at him again, and when he swipes at his nose, Jeremy rears back like he’s been hit. Ryan only just catches the frantic look in his eyes before Jeremy's turning away and he moves without thinking, leaning over the counter to grab his hand to stop him from grabbing for the tissue box behind him.

“Stop, Jeremy stop. I’m fine. See?” he holds out his hand for Jeremy to inspect, “no blood.”

It takes a moment, but Ryan watches him relax.

Jeremy lets out a humourless laugh; neither of them let their hands drop. “Sorry. Do you… do you still get them?” he asks and Ryan shakes his head.

“Nah, not anymore. They changed my medication,” he whispers. Slowly, carefully, he starts stroking his thumb against the skin of Jeremy’s palm, tracing small shapes into his skin. Jeremy's gaze falls to their hands, and Ryan hesitates for a moment, movement stopping, but when Jeremy doesn't say anything he starts again.

“I got into a car accident, Ryan” he mumbles, and the suddenness of his words make Ryan flinch. “I got, uh, T-boned, about a year ago? This asshole ran a red light, hit me at 50 miles per hour. Nearly fucking killed me,” he whispers and Ryan’s stomach drops.

He doesn't like that, he really doesn't like that. Just the idea alone of Jeremy dying makes his skin crawl, but what makes it worse, is that he probably never would have found out. Dodging Geoff’s calls, ignoring Jack’s ‘surprise’ visits; Gavin pretending he doesn’t exist and Michael to busy to care about how badly Ryan’s fucking up his life.

They’d forget to tell him. They’d forget to fucking tell him that his ex was dead, and Ryan would just continue on, as if the best thing he’d ever had wasn’t gone.

He wants to say something, wants to tell Jeremy just how much it hurts to ever imagine something like that happening to him, but Jeremy just keeps talking. “But, uh, it didn’t,” he huffs, a bitter sound, “it just fucked up my right leg, pinned it and I can’t tell you the medical terms they used to explain it- cause at the time I wasn’t- I wasn’t in a good place, Rye- but I can say, it was really bad,” he whines and Ryan’s up and moving around the kitchen counter within an instant.

He grabs for Jeremy and tugs him towards his chest and Jeremy goes easily, melting against him. He presses his face against Ryan’s chest, squeezing his eyes shut and Ryan rubs long strokes up and down his back, holding onto him for dear life.

“Can’t run anymore. Fucking- took me  _months_ of physical therapy just to walk again, but when it comes to running, I just… I can’t manage it for more than a few minutes.” He sucks in a ragged breath. “I hate it, Ryan. I hate it so fucking much. I feel so useless, so fucking angry all the time. Sometimes I run just so it hurts, just so I feel like I’m  _doing_ something.”

Ryan knows that feeling. He understands exactly what Jeremy’s trying to say. The thing is though, Ryan understands because he’s a homeless, failed author and not because he sustained life threatening injuries. So he can’t help but feel guilty for comparing himself to Jeremy, because really, Ryan’s fine.

Yeah. He’s… fine.

He squeezes Jeremy tighter and holds his tongue, because he knows him well enough to know that Jeremy doesn’t want his pity. He doesn't want his platitudes or his apologies.

He just wants Ryan.

Which, when he thinks about it, is the complete opposite of what he wanted when they broke up two and a half years ago.  _Mutual_ , he reminds himself,  _it was a mutual break-up_.

Heh, he doesn’t think either of them really believe that anymore.

“You’ll be able to run again,” he whispers, “I know it’s daunting and terrifying, and it makes you feel like you’re being pulled under, but fucking hell, you were made to run Jeremy. It’s in your blood, and while it might take some time, you’ll be able to run again.”

Jeremy’s fingers grab for his arm, nails biting into his skin as he clutches at Ryan desperately. “You say it like it’s so easy, Ryan.”

“I’m not saying that tomorrow you’ll be able to miraculously get up and run a marathon again, but one day-”

“One day, huh?” Jeremy huffs, pulling back from Ryan. Something like deja vu sparks in Ryan’s mind and his stomach drops. “Fuck off. I don’t need this shit from  _you_ of all people. Where’s your book, Ryan? You said, and I remember, of course I fucking remember, that you were going to, and I quote, ‘make it’” he spits, finger quoting his words.

Ryan takes a step back, and then another, putting distance between them. He keeps his mouth shut, because the last time he  _didn’t_ and he ended up fucking everything up.

“Did you make it Ryan? Did you do everything you wanted to do? All the stuff that of-fucking-course you couldn't do with  _me_. Was it worth it?” he hisses, closing the distance that Ryan tried to put between them. He glares up at him, but Ryan can see the hurt that’s hiding behind his gaze.

That somehow makes things worse.

“No. No, I didn’t make it, Jeremy,” he breaks, voice cracking. He sucks in a deep breath and tries to give himself a moment to settle, but Jeremy doesn’t let him.

“Was it worth it?” he repeats, not breaking eye contact.

“I threw that book out about a week after you left,” Ryan spits, clenching his hands into fists by his side. He’s so damn tired of holding it all in, he’s so damn tired of pretending that their mutual breakup wasn’t entirely  _his_ fault. “I never finished it. Everything I write nowadays doesn’t make it past the first five pages and I can’t write romance scenes without thinking of you.”

Jeremy lets out an exasperated breath. “God, you’re an idiot. I  _really_ don’t understand you, Ryan,” he replies, shaking his head.

His hands move quickly, gravitating towards his head; he lets out a strangled sound, spinning sharply to lean his elbows against the counter, turning away from Ryan. He ducks his head, fingers interlocking as he sucks in a ragged breath.

“You fought me for that book, Ryan. I mean, it was your novel, I wasn’t going to stop you from writing it,” he replies, shrugging helplessly, “but you just didn’t stop. How many times- how many fucking times did you chose that damn thing over me, just to throw it out!” he hisses, slamming his hands down on the counter.

“You were so much more than I was, Jeremy. You were running marathons, and you were training for the Olympics, and I was working in the tech department and barely scraping out a couple hundred words each week on a book that was everything I had. I was scared,” he spits, “I was so scared, and jealous, and envious because you were going to achieve your dream and I wasn’t-”

“And that’s my fault, then is it?!” he yells, body pulling taut like a live wire. Ryan doesn’t need to touch him to know he’s buzzing with electricity.

“No, God no, Jeremy-” he tries, but Jeremy’s not having it.

“It is, of course it is. I was the horrible needy boyfriend  _desperate_ for your attention. I was immature, always kept pushing for something. ‘Let’s go on a run together, Ryan!’” he mocks, and Ryan feels sick, “‘Sign up for the marathon with me!’ ‘Let me read a chapter of your book’ ‘Pretend you still love me for a moment and let's do something together, I’ll let you decide what.’” He heaves out a breath, meeting Ryan’s gaze directly, “Fuck me, right? For wanting to include you in my life.”

“It’s not like that, Jeremy,” he pleads, and this time it’s his turn to close the distance between them.

“Yeah, it is. And now I’m nothing, no career, no future, just me and my fucked up legs,” he says and the anger drains out of him slowly. Ryan watches him curl in on himself, unshed tears in his eyes as he rubs at his face. “You must love it, knowing that I’m never going to be better than you.”

“I’m not, I’m not better than you. I’m a shit person, Jeremy. I got so overwhelmed-”

“Please don’t,” he mutters, resting a palm against the counter, “I don’t want to hear how sorry you are, Ryan. It’s done. I don’t care. I think you should go.”

“Just listen, please. Just give me one chance to talk, and then I’ll go if you still want me too, I swear,” he begs, and Jeremy squeezes his eyes shut. After a few seconds, he opens them again and sighs; Ryan doesn’t risk wasting the opportunity.

“I got  _so_ overwhelmed with the idea of failing,” he begins, “that I took it all out on you. I’m not going to make excuses, Jeremy. I was an idiot, I handled everything wrong and at the time, I blamed it all on you. I was so hung up on the idea that I was thirty-four and going nowhere fast, that when I saw you succeeding, it felt like you were rubbing it in my face.”

He glances over towards the front door, staring at the ruined wood as if it’ll help him somehow. “I’m thirty-six now, Jeremy. I haven’t written anything in six months. I lost my job, my apartment and you. So at this point in time, it’s safe to say I’m a failed author. I’m not getting published; I’m not going to ‘make it’. It hurts, and as much as I try to pretend it doesn’t, lying just makes it worse,” he whispers, “the thing is, I don’t know how to make things better, I don’t what to fucking do anymore. You said that you’re angry all the time and so am I, Jeremy. I just- I can’t do anything fucking right anymore and it’s eating me alive.”

“You want me to forgive you?” Jeremy asks and Ryan looks back at him.

He can see them, if he tries hard enough.

Not them now, what with their bitterness, and their hurt and their issues, but what they used to be. Back when they’d first started dating. When things were easy and new, and sweet. Back when Jeremy would blush whenever Ryan asked him to stay the night, and when they’d burn their dinner because they were too busy kissing.

He can see them, but that doesn’t mean he can be them again.

“No. No, I’m not asking for that,” he sighs, pushing himself away from the counter. Jeremy watches him closely, but stays quiet, “I just don’t want you to give up hope just yet. You’ve still got plenty of time, and like I said, you were born to run. You’ll be fine, Jeremy, just don’t rush yourself.”

It’s cowardly, but he doesn’t wait for a reply. Instead, he just turns on his heel and takes a few steps towards the front door.  _It’s better this way_ , he tells himself, even though with every step he takes away from Jeremy feels like his heart is being crushed.  _He’s better off without you_.

So he doesn’t stop, he doesn’t hesitate, and he doesn’t turn around. At least, not until Jeremy calls out to him.

“Ryan,” he says, and Ryan freezes just a few steps away from the door. “I- I wasn’t lying earlier… when I said I missed you. I-” he pinches the bridge of his nose- “I’m not going to lie, I really tried to hate you afterwards. You made me feel like shit, made me feel everything was my fault, but I couldn’t.”

He shakes his head, a faraway look in his eyes. “But the thing is, we were  _both_ horrible at being in a relationship, Ryan. You were the first person I’d ever really loved, and I just, I gave you too much of myself to fast, just trying to keep you with me. And you had your own issues, your own problems and I just-” he sucks in a breath, and Ryan stares at him- “I think it was too soon, wasn’t the right time. You know the saying Ryan, right person wrong time? Yeah... I think that was us.”

“What are you trying to say,” he replies, and Jeremy shrugs.

“I’m not suggesting we try again, at least, not yet. I just think, if you honestly believe that I still have a chance, that one day I’ll be able to run again and that it’ll just take some time, then why can’t it be the same for you?” he responds, and Ryan’s caught off guard by his words. He opens his mouth, looking for the words to disagree with Jeremy, but the lad just watches him with a soft gaze.

“You’re not dead yet, Ryan, and neither am I. That’s gotta count for something, right?” he adds, and Ryan feels his heart skirt a beat in his chest. He stands there for a moment, utterly unsure about where they go from there.

He’s caught between leaving and staying, and in the end, Jeremy makes the decision for him.

“Go crash in Geoff’s apartment. Call him and make a date to catch up again. Start writing again. There’s still plenty of time, Ryan, don’t waste it by feeling sorry for yourself. And if you want to, come back around in a couple of days and we’ll go get lunch together, as friends this time, and we’ll see how we go from there.”

Ryan nods and the pressure in his chest lifts just enough for him to breathe. He takes a moment, letting himself memorise the little parts that make Jeremy,  _Jeremy_. The way he stands, the way he looks, the way he sounds and moves, just so he won’t forget about them again, and then he turns around.

He’s halfway out the door when he hesitates, tossing a look back over his shoulder at Jeremy. “I’m really hoping that this is the right time then, Jeremy,” he whispers, and Jeremy blinks back at him.

“Yeah, me too, Rye.”


End file.
